


In Love With Him

by Tigergirl008 (unityManipulator)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, also theres a tiiiiiiny nsfw bit, but its small and barely there and its not like THE FULL SEX, cute fluffy boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unityManipulator/pseuds/Tigergirl008





	In Love With Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMockingCrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingCrows/gifts).



    Looking back, you’re not sure when exactly you fell in love with him. Maybe it was on the first day of kindergarten, when despite his totally cool shades (at least you thought they were cool), he didn’t seem to be a kid whose friendship was desired. You had instead taken it upon yourself to give him a good welcome to his school experience.   
  
~~~  
  
    “Hi! My name’s John, John Egbert! What’s yours?” You held out your hand for him to shake, or high five, or something, you weren’t quite sure which.   
  
    “’M Dave,” he muttered in response, not acknowledging your hand or your smile, instead focused on something he was cupping in his hand.  
  
    “A tamagotchi? Dude, that’s so lame, who plays with those nowadays?” Your hand drops, and instead you sit beside him, pulling up a blue cushion alongside his red one.  
  
    “I do. Don’t use ‘dude’, you make it sound dumb.” He had just the slightest hint of a Texas drawl. You thought it was the cutest thing ever.  
  
    The rest of your conversation consisted of you asking him questions, and his minuscule answers helped you get a picture of who he was. His last name was Strider, he lived with his big brother, and Bro was from Texas, which explained the accent. He had a cousin named Rose, who visited every so often, but went to a private school across the city. When the bell rang and you headed home, you felt you had made progress, as he had progressed to answering people with full sentences and had even pocketed his tamagotchi.  
  
~~~  
  
    You smile to yourself, cuddling closer to your boyfriend, letting the memory bubble up inside of you. That could very well have been it, or it could be the time when he had invited you to his eighth birthday party. You had gotten him a small tool set, with a hammer, two screwdrivers, a set of pliers, and a belt to wear them on. Your dad had made him a cake from scratch, a chocolate one with a record on it, the kind he made for Special Occasions, which were totally different than “special occasions”. That had made you happier than ever, your friend was worth a Special Cake. His cousin had given him a book thicker than your wrist, when you questioned her, she replied that it was a sort of tradition between the two. Every year, she received a mix tape of all his beats and raps he’d created since her last birthday, in return, she bought the thickest work of fiction she could find and gifted it to him. His brother had given him a pack of throwing stars (where did he even _buy_ those), a sword (a fucking _sword_ ), and a strange puppet of bright red felt, with a large nose and a larger rear end, which Dave quickly threw into the fireplace. He opened yours last, which you could have been offended by if his face didn’t light up when he saw the first hint of leather. He had thrown his arms around you, thanking you over and over. That was a good day.

  
    But maybe it was the time you two went camping together, on a school trip. On an orienteering activity, despite having a quality compass and good map, you managed to get lost. For an hour, you had nothing but each other’s company, and you made full use of that. Instead of your imagined first kiss in a theater, with a girl, while the actors kissed on screen, it was in the woods at a school camp and you were almost caught and because of that you fell into a stream and he gave you his hoodie (his hoodie!) because it was getting chilly and that was the cutest fucking thing you’d ever been part of and you were more glad than ever that your beds were beside each other. For the rest of that camp, you were inseparable.  
  
    Your first time was awkward, and ridiculous, and full of _shit what fell_ and _I’m so glad your dad isn’t here_ and _we’re going to have to wash these sheets, you know_. Despite his assurances that he was a pro at this, neither of you lasted very long, but you were okay with that, it left you with plenty of time to clean up and hide all the proof that it had ever happened, except the memories, of course.  
  
    When you two finished college, moved out, and rented an apartment together, he proposed. It was wonderfully silly and “ironic” and of _course_ you said yes, because you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, and you couldn’t think of a better way to do that. The ceremony was small, but nice, and you can still remember exactly the way that he had removed his shades for this, and you could see his scarlet eyes sparkling with _I love you_ and _I’m yours forever_ and _You’re the best boyfriend ever_ over and over as he said “I do” and the moment you kissed was the best part ever because it sealed the deal. It was a promise, and like hell were either of you going to break it.  
  
    It didn’t matter _when_ you fell in love with him, though, because you _were_ , you loved him just as much as family and maybe more and you never wanted to change that because he was the best thing that had ever happened to you, and you loved him with all your heart. With that in mind, you settled down and fell asleep, winding your fingers with his.

 


End file.
